Unchain My Heart
by redrabb1t
Summary: Ginny Weasley has been imprisoned by the Death Eaters. When Draco Malfoy comes into the picture, she must play a game of sedution, manipulation, and lies in order to escape. But falling in love wasn't part of the plan...
1. The War Never Ended

Chapter 1 / THE WAR NEVER ENDED

 **Disclaimer: None of J.K. Rowling's characters, plot, or ideas belong to me. It's just me using her characters (and giving her full credit for them!) and them having their own story after the original Harry Potter canon. Everything except my plot and story line belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

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The war never ended. Not really. The masses of battles and bloodshed dwindled but I still live in the shadow of my sickening memories, encased in the terrors I try to suppress. The past haunts me. A reminder of the butchery, the carnage, and The Killings. And I've tried to wash it all away but the memories just won't leave.

The Killings began soon after the Battle of Hogwarts. After Harry's death and Fred's. And Colin's and Lupin's and Tonks's deaths… The Killings lasted for almost a year after The Final Battle. It was gruesome and a dark time— for everyone. Families were separated. Rebels were incarcerated. They were dragged out from their homes by Death Eaters and executed publicly, their bodies hung for all to see as example of what would await anyone who dared to defy The Dark Lord. Muggleborns were executed. Every last one of them. The rebels and Order of the Phoenix members were hunted down and killed if they continued to resist the Dark Lord's rule.

Purebloods were forced to live under the New Ministry's law. Many Order of the Phoenix members and their loved ones were imprisoned, tortured, and often never heard from again, presumably killed.

They took George away first. Then the Death Eaters came for Bill and Charlie, as if my family hadn't suffered enough. Ron left before they could get to him. But he's gone anyways now. He never wrote to let us know if he was alright or even alive, never owled or flooed, never visited. But I suppose, he was just trying to survive. We all were.

But that was a long time ago… at least, it feels that way. It's been a year and a half since Ron left. He packed up everything one night and was gone the next morning. He left nothing but a small note inscribed with his messy handwriting: I'm leaving and I don't expect to see any of you for a while. I love you all. Stay safe. ~Ron

That's all there was. Just that meager scrawl of words that in no way sufficed as an explanation and the sinking feeling in our stomachs that we had lost yet another bit of our family.

Last I heard, Percy was working at the New Ministry. I hated it that he worked there for The Dark Lord and his Death Eater minions, but he must have been just as scared as the rest of us.

A while ago, word came about The Rebels. I only ever heard whispers but it was enough to give me at least a small string of hope. I knew that the Rebel leaders were Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minerva McGonagall, Aberforth Dumbledore, Andromeda Tonks, and Hestia Jones. But there were whispers of the disappearance of Hestia Jones. I always remembered her as a kind and pretty young lady. The Death Eaters were careful not to let slip any information about the subject in front of me, so all I ever heard of it were little tidbits of overheard conversation. She had been taken hostage by the Death Eaters. From what I could tell, she was still alive. But that hope could be dead for all I know. And so could Hestia Jones.

It's been a year since I've seen Mum and Dad. More precisely, it's been 11 months and 23 days. It's been 11 months and 23 days since my life somehow morphed into this befouled reality, since I got trapped in this hellhole, since they took me away. Away from my family… away from my home.

The Burrow is gone. They burned it to the ground the night they came to take me away. All that's left of my childhood home is grey depths of ash, cinder, and burned wreckage. It seems so long ago that I took refuge in the comforting walls of the cosy haven I called home. It's a lost hiraeth, only existing in my mind and my memories. I miss it. I miss home.

My only home for the past 11 months has been this cold and empty cell with its low ceiling and cracked stone walls. Small beads of water sometimes drips through the cracks in the rugged and flawed stone tiles. The sounds from upstairs are heard loudly from down here. There is often screaming. I used to try to ignore the wretched and tortured cries for help but I can't. I used to listen to the horror-filled yells and shrieks, until, all too fast, they became my own.

They tortured me— the Death Eaters. They still do sometimes, but I suppose they've figured out by now that one of the worst punishments is isolation. That's why they keep me down here, in this dank and musty cell. On rare occasion, I'll be dragged out of here, up the narrow staircase and into a cold drawing room where the Death Eaters torture me for knowledge of the Order or the Rebels that I don't have. I've suddenly become glad that the Order of the Phoenix and the Rebel leaders never thought to fill me in on their plans. Sometimes the Death Eaters simply talk to me. But even when they talk to me, they mock me and jeer at me, deriding and heckling, cruelly reminding me of everything I've lost because of this war. They're careful as to what they let slip, making sure not to inform me of any news from the outside world. I've heard nothing of the Rebels or the Order of the Phoenix for the whole of the time I've been here and I can only hope that they are still resisting against Voldemort's rule, fighting for what's right.

Hope. That's all I have left. It's all anyone has left anymore. And I know I can't give up. I have to keep fighting. Because every day I wake up and I tell myself that today is the day that I'll be rescued. Because no matter what they do to me, giving up and giving in would be worse. But quite honestly, there's not much hope to go around anymore. At least, not for me. And I'm tired of fighting.

It's been 11 months and 23 days. I've been counting every day since I've been here. It keeps me sane. At least, somewhat.

I don't want to die here. I'm not exactly sure where here is. I imagine it's Voldemort's and his Death Eaters' base. But I don't want to die alone. There are no other prisoners that have been imprisoned with me. Unless the rats count. There are plenty of rats in this cell with me… and just like me, they're prisoners too. Under the Dark Lord's rule, we're all prisoners.

Because the war never ended. Not really.

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 **First chapter! Tell me what you think. Review please! All feedback welcome! Thanks!**


	2. Dying Flame

Copyright: ©redrabb1t 2018

Chapter 2 /DYING FLAME

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—June 7th, 1999—

The sound of the metal barred door creaking open wakes me. I lean closer towards the wall, trying to pretend I'm still sleeping. I don't want to deal with any Death Eaters right now. I can hear the heavy footfalls, belonging to the person who has entered the cell, moving across the cell and closer to me.

"Get up, Weasley," a demanding and gruff voice says.

The voice is unfamiliar. I remain still, curled up against the wall. Inhaling silently, I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, careful not to move noticeably.

"I said get up. Now." The gruff voice comes again.

I force my eyes open. My eyelids are heavy and I blink up at the figure, watching him warily. Cold dark brown eyes meet mine and long greasy black hair fals into the man's dirty face. I've never seen this man before. His eyebrows are bushy and look oily. He's on the husky side and his fat arms are folded against his chest cockily. His long nose is crooked as if it's been broken multiple times and didn't heal properly and his face is twisted into an angry, arrogant smirk.

"Leave me alone," I mutter, feeling brave, still curled up against the wall.

"Get up." he says again, more forcefully this time. I don't respond. I feel a sharp pain in my side as the man's foot collides with it harshly, leaving an ache. I gasp sharply as I realize that he's kicked me. "Get up now, you bitch!"

I jump at the sudden anger showing through in his voice. I lick my lips nervously and push myself up, supporting myself against the stone cold wall. The muscles in my legs ache from lack of usage. I stagger away from the wall, a bit off-balance because of the dull ache in my side from the force that he kicked me with. I look up to meet his cold dark eyes. There's a predatory look in his eyes and I inhale sharply, backing away from him slightly.

"What do you want with me?" I ask, feeling my confidence melting away like an ice cream on a hot summer day.

The man steps forward quickly and in one swift movement, he pins my arms above my head with one hand and pushes his body against mine, trapping me against the wall. I gasp and push against him, trying to get away, kicking my legs. He begins kissing my neck and I whimper as he tugs at my sweater.

"You know, you're real pretty," he says gruffly, his hot and garlic-smelling breath against my neck. I shiver and try to push him away again, thrashing wildly.

"Get away from me! Let me go!" I yell, but he seems unfazed as I do this and he continues pulling on my sweater. He pushes against me more, his beefy legs trapping my thin ones. I yell out again but his disgusting lips capture mine in a slimy and rough kiss. I protest against his mouth, but he bites down on my bottom lip and continues kissing me. I can feel his hand traveling up under my sweater and grazing my bare torso all the way to my chest. He rubs his hand against my bra and then shoves his hand under it, grabbing my breast roughly in his meaty fingers. I yell out a muffled protest against his lips and he pulls his mouth away from me. I gasp for air and then scream loudly, hoping someone— anyone— will hear and come save me from this disgusting man.

"Get away from me, you—you pervert!"

"Sshh, sh, shhh. You'll get us both in trouble, Pretty." he says and then squeezes my breast painfully hard. I yelp loudly. "Stop it. Stop!" He leans closer to my face and then connects his mouth with mine and I turn my head away from him, letting out a shriek.

"That's enough," a cold, clear voice comes.

The meaty hands leave my body suddenly and I gasp in relief, sinking to the floor and scrambling away from the man.

Glancing up, I see the person who the cold and clear voice belongs to. It's a man whose dark brown hair is lightly falling into his eyes, his lean body looks rigid and his face is irate. His fingers are curled into fists and his vibrant green eyes graze cooly over me.

I edge closer to the wall, brushing my hand against the cool stone, trying to steady my ragged breathing.

The husky man is standing facing the lean man with his head lean man smirks at the meaty man and says angrily "You were told not to touch her, Yandell."

"Honestly, Arlington. She was asking for it, the bitch", the fat man—Yandell— retorts.

"The Dark Lord will not be pleased to hear about this. He'll have my head because of your stupidity." the lean man—Arlington— says irritatedly. He seems slightly panicked behind the blank mask he has morphed his facial expressions into.

"Yeah, well, better your head than mine. But really… too pretty for her own good, ain't she?" Yandell laughs gruffly, nodding in my direction.

"Go report to the Carrows about your mission on the Bones' family." Arlington says sharply, glaring at Yandell.

Yandell looks at Arlington, and then to me. I shrink away from him, glaring. Swinging his gaze back to Arlington, he kicks the wall angrily and then turns away, stomping up the narrow staircase, huffing under his breath.

I internally gasp in relief. I look up at the lean man, the one that fat Yandell man called Arlington. I peer up at him suspiciously, crossing my arms against my chest, hugging myself. If he even thinks about touching me…

"I'm not going to hurt you." he says quietly. He walks towards me and then squats down, offering his hand in my direction. I inhale sharply. "I'm Henry." he says, looking gently down at me. "Henry Arlington."

I edge farther away from him and spit in his general direction. His eyes widen in surprise and then he stands up, his expression twisted in indignation. I almost want to apologize to him but I refrain.

Finding my voice, I open my mouth to speak. "Get away from me. You're just Death Eater scum."

His eyes narrow. "You think that you're the only one with problems, Weasley? You think no one else lost anything because of this war. We were all damned from the beginning. And now I've lost everything and everyone who ever loved me." He hisses at me angrily.

"No one could love a monster," I tell him. "That's what you are. A monster. That's what you all are."

He smiles arrogantly. "You know, you're just being stupid, Weasley."

"I don't give a damn." I say, irate, feeling courageous.

He sighs and then turns towards the cell door. He pauses and then speaks, his voice hushed just loud enough for me to hear. "We're not all monsters." And then he's gone, leaving me alone in the cell.

.^.^.^.^.

—June 7th, 1999—

It's hot. Too hot. The summer months always makes this tiny room seem like it's in the center of the bloody sun. My skin is sticky with sweat and the humidity is palpable in the air. I brush some of my sodden hair out of my face and wipe my forehead on my sweater sleeve.

The air feels sticky. Not sticky like a lolly, but sticky like when you have a fever and the medicine or potions the Healers prescribed aren't doing any good.

I pull my thin sweater over my head and throw it aside, leaving me in my half-sleeve shirt. I move to the side of the cell, sliding down to the floor, my back against the stone wall. I sigh. I'm probably going to die in here. I'm going to die in this bloody cell alone, sweating like a pig.

The rusty squeak of the hinges pulls me from my thoughts. The cell door opens and I almost think that the disgusting man Yandell has come back but then I see the flash of the vibrant green eyes that belong to Arlington.

"Let's go, Weasley" he says, his voice bitter and his former somewhat-friendly demeanor gone. I don't move. He sighs irritably. "Come on, Weasley."

I stand up, stretching out my legs, sighing. He moves towards me and then grabs my arm roughly, digging his fingers into my arm. I cry out. "You're hurting me."

"I don't give a damn." He says mockingly as he drags me to the cell door. That's what I said to him when he told me that I was being stupid earlier. Anger fills me at his rude mockery but quickly recedes as I notice something thin and wooden grasped in his hand. It's his wand.

I haven't held a wand in what feels like forever. The only time I ever see wands around here anymore are the ones that I'm tortured with. I haven't cast a spell in a year. Well, 11 months and 27 days. But if I could just get the wand away from him…

"Don't even think about it." Arlington says bluntly.

"Don't think about what?" I ask dumbly.

He doesn't say anything at that, but I don't miss the way he grasps his wand even tighter in his hand. Arlington's grip on my arm tightens, jerking me down a hallway that doesn't seem familiar to me. The hallway is lavishly decorated with a grey stone floor and beige/cream walls with intricate designs on the wallpaper. The lamp holders attached to the wall illuminate the grey ceiling. Looking around at the adorned hallway as Arlington marches me down it, I suddenly feel very out of place. I must look a mess. I look down at myself in dismay: My tattered old blue short-sleeved shirt that is too long for me is dirty with blood and dirt The front of my shirt is sodden with sweat. My leggings have dirt on them and there is a small rip is by my left knee. My hair is probably misplaced and unbrushed. I look down at my fingernails and find them caked with mud and grime. Looking around, the hallway looks immaculately embellished and neat. _Even the hallways are taunting that they are better than me…_

Arlington stops walking, wrenching me away from my thoughts. We have stopped in front of a large wooden door. I gulp, wondering what lies behind the door. Arlington sighs audibly, his grip on my arm tightening slightly. He grasps the door handle and turns it, marching me into the room.

It's a large room. It's cold, too. Too cold for this time of year. My cell feels like a bloody volcano erupted in there. But up here, in this room that is much too large, it's as if winter has come early. A settee stands comfortably by the fireplace. The wooden floor looks sleek and shiny. A desk stands on one end of the room, right in front of the large glass window. I nearly faint when I look in that direction, but I maintain consciousness. My heart beats a million times a second. Gasping, I inhale sharply.

And it's not the fact that the desk looks like the most expensive and exceptional furniture ever created that makes me gasp. It's not the fact that the room is surprisingly cold, either.

What makes me gasp is the fact that Lucius Malfoy is seated behind the desk. Standing behind him is his son, Draco Malfoy. I gulp… This can't be good.

"Miss Weasley, isn't it?" Lusius sneers. I glare at him sharply. He laughs condescendingly in return to my expression.

"Yes, yes. Of course, you know who I am." he says arrogantly. "And my son, Draco," he gestures to Draco. I glance to him. His pale face looks sick and sallow, a slightly yellowish tinge hanging to his cheeks. His thin figure has filled out and he must have grown a bit taller since I last saw him. His blonde hair is combed neatly and his eyes stare blankly into space, not at all acknowledging me or Arlington. He looks tired.

Lucius glares at Arlington and then flicks his hand dismissively. "Leave us, Arlington."

He glares at Lucius, his grip on my arm tightening and then relaxing as he lets go of it roughly. He pushes me forward and I gasp quietly at the violent gesture. He turns to leave and then closes the door with a loud slam. I turn to face What's-His-Face Malfoy and Malfoy Jr.

"Miss Weasley, you should come to understand that your life rests in our hands now. Your life, and that of your pathetic family. Or what's left of it, of course." Lucius says snidely.

"Why am I here? Where are my parents?" I say, panicking, blurting out my troubled thoughts.

"That is not of your concern at the moment." Draco says. He strides towards me and begins circling me. I gulp. I fist my hands, curling them so tightly that my fingernails bite into my skin. My breathing quickens and I suddenly feel nervous under his gaze. He reaches out and takes one of my sweaty locks of hair. He twists it around his finger carefully and then smirks.

"You know, you're very pretty." I jerk away from him at that, the lock of hair falling loose from his thin fingers. The memory of the fat man, Yandell, falls to the front of my mind. I avoid his silver eyes. Draco chuckles and then, still looking at me, he says "Isn't she pretty, Father?"

"Yes, yes. That's all well and good. Now, to business." Malfoy Sr. says. "Ginevra, before the month is out, you will be wed to my son."

"Wh-what?" I stutter, my mouth hanging open. That was not what I was expecting to hear at all. I'm confused, but panicked. And scared. Just a bit. Shaking my head, I protest "N-no! No. I won't."

"I don't really think you have much of a choice, darling." Draco says derisively. I shiver at the endearment he uses: _Darling._ The way he says it makes it seem like an insult.

"Ginevra, you will marry Draco. You will be an obedient wife. You will bear him children and do as he says. Disobedience will not be tolerated and met with punishment. You will act as a proper lady should in public and at the Manor. Soon, you will be a Malfoy, and it is expected of you to act like one." Lucius says with a sort of finality that lingers in the air.

"And if I refuse?" I say clearly, feeling brave.

"Well, your parents are living quite the life in Muggle London. One might even go as far to say that they are very…" he pauses, searching for the correct word, and then says "peaceful. You wouldn't want to ruin that, would you?" Draco says.

The indirect threat does not go unnoticed and I stiffen. If I refuse, my parents die. If I don't refuse, I sell my soul along with my body and mind. But that's what these bloody Death Eaters want, isn't it? They want control, they want power. And if I agree to this, that's exactly what I give them. I will be giving away my last shred of dignity. My dignity.

But the fact that I have battled for this long, each day being a grueling routine of suffering; sitting in that cell just waiting for something to happen, surviving these past months of torture and isolation, that must mean something. All of that must mean that there is hope, albeit a sliver of hope. But maybe— just maybe— that's enough.

And maybe it's not. I suppose there is no maybe. Because right now, standing in this too-large room with its too-expensive furniture and the freakishly cold temperature, I'm admitting something to myself. Something that I think I've known for a while: There is no hope anymore. Maybe there never was. _Maybe._

"Miss Weasley, in less than two fortnights, you will be married to my son. We've come to this understanding, have we not?" Lucius says.

A wad of sudden fury suffocates me and I try to hold back the tears that threaten to leak out from my eyes. "But this is blackmail!" I blurt out, staring straight into Draco Malfoy's silver eyes.

"No, darling. It's restitution," he says, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

His words burn something inside of me. The words seer themselves into the back of my mind like a mantra, and I let the tears fall, dripping down my cheeks, my whole body racking with sobs.

 _It's restitution._

 _It's restitution._

 _It's restitution._

 _It's restitution._

 _It's restitution._

 _It's restitution._

 _It's restitution._

… _It's Restitution._

 _It's… Restitution._

 _Restitution._

And the fire, that they used to say I had in me, is gone. Because after all this time— after being trapped in this cell for what feels like an eternity, after being beaten and tortured for information that I don't have, after being isolated from everyone and everything I know and love, after being stripped of my dignity— I think I've finally figured it out: no one's coming to save me.

Copyright: ©redrabb1t 2018


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